Hello, Stranger
by bookmaniac2013
Summary: After the Battle of New York, Natasha goes to check on the one secret not even SHIELD knows about: her daughter Anya. Though she doesn't know it, Anya's parent's are always around to keep a watchful eye on her. Established clintasha with a buttload of angsty feels.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** ok had a few technical difficulties uploading this the first time, sorry about that!  
>This fic was spawned because of my misunderstanding of Loki the first time i saw avengers. and thus this idea was born, and then spiraled out of control inside my head for nearly 2 years. I've been working on it on and off for a while and finally i have a couple of chapters ready to post, though i can't make any promises for how regularly they'll be updated (college and all that joy). otherwise, enjoy, review, and favorite!<p>

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><p>The first time Natasha saw her was on the playground.<p>

She parked her car along the side of the street and proceeded to walk the remaining few blocks to the school. The air was cool and crisp with the coming fall, and the leaves on the trees that lined the sidewalk were already starting to fade from green to yellow. Despite the pleasant weather, the small suburban neighborhood was quiet for a Saturday afternoon.

'_Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Drakoff's daughter, Sao Paulo, the hospital file? Barton told me everything.'_

Loki's words echoed through her head again, and Natasha tried to ignore the knot twisting in her stomach. It'd been over a month since Thor had returned with his brother to Asgard – in chains and a gag no less – but of all the horror and destruction Loki had caused, it was those words that haunted her most at night.

Natasha knew she shouldn't be here. As far as anyone back at headquarters knew, she was running an errand upstate. If they found out she was AWOL, there'd certainly be consequences, but this was something she had to do herself, something she had to see with her own eyes in order to sleep soundly at night. Well, as soundly as she ever slept.

The school playground came into view as she rounded the corner. It was relatively small, consisting of a few swings, a basketball court, a jungle gym, and a particularly worn out merry-go-round. There were a few children there today, running around, playing and yelling, while their mothers kept watchful eyes on them as they talked and sipped coffee from colorful mugs.

Natasha watched them through the high chain-link fence that partially surrounded the playground, a cool breeze blowing her short locks back out of her face. Looping her fingers through the metal links, she scanned through the faces of the children climbing up and down the jungle gym. It didn't take her long to find her. She really wasn't that hard to spot. She was the spitting image of her parents, with Natasha's fiery hair and Clint's steel grey-blue eyes. Her daughter, her Anya.

Natasha did the math in her head. Anya would be about six now. Far from the baby she was last time Natasha had seen her. She watched as Anya followed another girl down a slide, shrieking with laughter, her orange curls flowing behind her. Chasing after the girl, Anya disappeared behind the jungle gym and from Natasha's hungry gaze.

Natasha craned her neck a little to try and regain sight of her daughter, but was unsuccessful. Leave, her mind ordered, before you compromise yourself or worse, her. She had done what she had come here to do, to assure herself that no harm had come to her daughter in the aftermath of Loki's attack. She should have been satisfied, but every fiber of her being urged her to get closer, to see more of her daughter. For once, she ignored her better sense.

Letting go of the fence, Natasha walked around the edge to the playground until she came to an empty bench and sat down. She stayed a respectable distance from the children as to not alarm their parents, but close enough that she could watch them play without obstruction.

Natasha took her cell phone out of her pocket and pretended to text someone. She should have brought a book or something with her, anything to make her look a little more inconspicuous. Over the top of her phone, she watched Anya as she moved across the jungle gym to a set of monkey bars.

Gripping the first bar tight, Anya swung across to the next, only to loose her momentum and hang there for a moment before giving up and dropping to the ground. Looking back up at the bars high above her head, Anya screwed up her face in concentration in a way Natasha recognized all too well as Clint's.

A pang shot through Natasha's chest. Her job made it completely impractical for her to want to have kids, but it didn't mean she didn't think about it sometimes. About leaving SHIELD one day, settling down, living that all American apple pie kinda life people seemed so keen on. About sleeping late and waking to find Clint by her side, both of them safe and sound and not in immediate danger for once in their lives. She'd be lying if she said it didn't sound a bit appealing.

And then Sao Paulo happened. As usual, their relatively simple mission had gone sideways. It was almost expected, nothing she couldn't handle. Clint faking his own death? Not so much. When he turned up almost two days later, very much alive, she'd already brutally taken out half of the drug cartel they'd been sent to dismantle, including the leader, Drakoff's, daughter. It was a blood bath, a prominent blotch of red on even her crimson ledger.

When she confronted Clint later, she was a mess, caught somewhere between wanting to kill him for his deception and just being relieved that he was actually alive. Anger quickly turned to passion, and six weeks later found Natasha with a horrible case of not-food-poisoning and a positive pregnancy test.

The news was a shock to them both. Suddenly Natasha was faced with a choice. Maternity leave wasn't uncommon in SHIELD, though admittedly more so for field agents. It was one of the few ways out of the organization that didn't include a pine box six feet under or being locked up for the rest of your natural life.

The most logical thing to do would have been to terminate the pregnancy. Clint told her that he'd support her decision either way, but despite it all, Natasha couldn't bring herself to do it. They informed only those who absolutely needed to know - Fury, Coulson, Hill - and Natasha was confined to the helicarrier doing desk work. When she was no longer able to conceal her condition, Natasha left on administrative leave, though the official story was that she was sent deep undercover in Kiev.

Anya Marie was born four months later. Clint was out on a training exercise with new recruits and missed it all, but rushed to the hospital when the news finally reached him. For two solid hours, they were a family. Natasha cradled Anya in her arms, whispering sweet nothings to her in Russian while Clint played with Anya's tiny hands, smiling every time they wrapped tightly around his finger.

It was a perfect moment interrupted only by the entrance of the social worker. Natasha and Clint exchanged knowing glances, and Natasha pressed one last kiss to her daughter's forehead before passing her to Clint, who handed her over to the worker. Natasha managed to hold back her tears until after the woman left. Clint tried to keep it together for her sake, but she knew it hurt him too. He'd always wanted kids more than her. But with their lifestyle it just wasn't possible.

Natasha located Anya again, this time awkwardly running amongst a pack of slightly older boys who were playing soccer. Despite her obvious disadvantages, Anya tried her hardest to keep up with them, her little legs kicking blindly at the ball whenever it got within her reach.

Natasha wasn't mother material, she knew that. She didn't drive a minivan or know how to make a sick child feel better. She didn't go to PTA meetings or help coach little league games. She knew five different ways to take down a full grown man with a spatula, but couldn't for the life of her make decent pancakes for breakfast.

She jumped a little when the phone in her hand actually did vibrate with a new message. She looked down at it, finally taking her eyes off of Anya.

_Where are you?_ It was from Clint.

_Out_, she replied simply.

She hadn't told him she had come, hadn't told him that she'd been secretly keeping tabs on their daughter for years, though he probably already knew. There may be secrets in every relationship, but they were harder to keep when you're partner was a government trained spy. She felt bad for not cluing him in; he would have died to come, but after everything that happened to him with Loki she wasn't sure if it was the best idea.

Her thoughts were interrupted when something bumped lightly against her leg. Natasha looked down to see the soccer ball the children had been playing with sitting at her feet. She looked up again only to find Anya running right towards her.

"Sorry," the little girl said, bending down to pick up the ball.

For a moment, Natasha couldn't remember how to speak. The last time she had been this close to her daughter had been the day she gave her up for adoption. Part of her wanted to reach out, to gently touch Anya's cheek, as if to make sure this was real. She shut that part down immediately.

"It's no problem," Natasha finally managed.

Ball wrapped in her tiny arms, Anya looked up at her clinically for a moment, her stare shockingly similar to her mother's.

"You have red hair, just like me," her daughter grinned.

Natasha almost laughed. "Yeah I do."

"My mommy calls me her ginger snap because of it," Anya giggled.

Natasha gave a weak smile, but she felt like she had just been punched in the stomach; her chest aching, her lungs screaming for air, it was as if she could actually feel her heart breaking. Natasha may have given her life, but she wasn't her mother. To Anya, she was just some stranger at the park.

"Anya," a brunette woman called from across the playground, her son beside her. "Anya, it's time to go."

Anya looked over her shoulder. "That's my mom, I've got to go," she said and quickly ran off, without so much a second glance at Natasha.

Natasha gave a little wave as she watched her daughter run from her and into the arms of another woman.

Giving her up hadn't even been the hardest part. They were spies; a kid shouldn't be raised in that kind of environment. Natasha would know. She was speaking from experience. The hardest part was giving away all the possibilities that keeping her would have entitled. Any chance of ever having that normal life that she convinced herself she didn't really want left the moment she handed her baby over to that social worker six years ago.

The woman hugged Anya to her gently before looking back at Natasha warily. Even from across the yard, Natasha could see the woman's eyes grow wider as she no doubtedly noticed the similarities between her and Anya.

Natasha only bowed her head and looked down, trying to indicate that she meant no harm to the little family.

Finally looking away from Natasha, the woman led her son and Anya out of the park and toward home. After they were out of sight, Natasha allowed a single tear to roll down her cheek before she bitterly wiped it from her eyes.

She looked down at her phone to find another message from Clint.

_How is she?_

She paused. Of course he knew. She took a shaky breath before typing back.

_She's just fine._


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** as usual, comment and favorite!

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><p>It was nearly 2 a.m. when Clint headed out into the darkened city. It wasn't a regular habit of his, going on these late night walks, but on nights when Natasha was away on a mission or he just couldn't sleep, he found the calmness of the night soothing. Sometimes he even found himself prowling the streets until early in the morning.<p>

Rounding a corner, Clint tugged on the collar of his jacket, trying to block out the chill of the night. His breath instantly turned into clouds of wispy, white vapor as soon as it left his mouth. Screw what the calendar and weather man say, he though as he continued down the street, there was no way it was spring already.

A heavy rain earlier that evening had left the roads and sidewalks damp, reflecting back the lights of the city. The bright capital A from the formerly named Stark Tower shown back at Clint from the sidewalk before him. He let his gaze follow the glowing reflection back to its source, the tower keeping a silent vigil over the city as it slept. No matter what direction he turned, Clint was never out of its sight for long.

Shortly after the Battle of New York, as the media had so creatively dubbed it, the remaining Avengers had moved into the tower - the exception of course being Thor, who did his best to split his time between Earth and Asgard. It only took about a week after that for both Clint and Natasha to agree they needed their own place. Stark Tower was nice, but when your housemates were two mad scientists - one of which had no sense of boundaries, the other spectacular anger issues - Captain America, and occasionally the god of thunder, peace and privacy became hard commodities to come by.

They found a nice place a few blocks away, not that they got to spend a whole lot of time there together. While they were now Avengers, they were still Agents of SHIELD, and it wasn't more than a month before they had him and Nat out in the field again. They found moments though, between the chaos and the missions and the endless paperwork. They went out to dinner, they caught a movie. It was probably the closest to domestic either of them had ever gotten. Most days he found himself living for those moments.

Hands stuffed in his pockets, Clint crossed forty-second street onto fifth. To his right, the New York Public Library loomed over the block, its marble lions standing guard atop their pedestals. During the day the place was usually crawling with tourists, but now it was nearly deserted.

A lone figure sat on the library steps. A girl, Clint noted, but kept walking. Street walkers, despite the NYPD's best efforts, could still be found wandering around the city at night, desperately trying to pick up men and a few bucks. Clint had run into several in his late night ventures, and had learned to brush them off and ignore them.

He would have done the same with this one as well. That is, if he hadn't heard her crying.

He paused in front of the steps and turned to look up at her, his hawk like vision easily picking up her features in the dim city light.

A closer look revealed her not to be a prostitute, but rather just a young girl, probably no more than fifteen or sixteen. She sat alone on the steps, her copper hair and clothes damp from the rain, hunched over a cell phone and crying quietly. Clint glanced around, looking for someone who might be with the girl, but came up empty.

After a moment of hesitation, Clint climbed the stairs towards her. Too preoccupied with the phone in her hands, she didn't seem to notice his approach, even when he came to stand beside her.

"Hey, you alright kid?"

The girl jumped, finally noticing his presence. She looked up at him, her pale eyes wide and damp from crying. Clint didn't miss the touch of fear that flitted through them.

"I - I'm fine." She looked down, drying her eyes with the cuff of her large grey sweat shirt. "I'm just waiting for a ride."

"You don't look fine to me."

The girl only scowled. "Look," she said. "I've had a seriously shitty night, so being harassed is really not something I want to deal with right now."

Ignoring her protests, Clint took a seat beside her on the steps. She leaned away from him defensively.

"I'm warning you, I will call the cops," she threatened, brandishing her cell phone.

"I'm not going to try anything, promise," he assured her. He nodded towards her phone. "Besides, even I can tell the battery on that thing is dead."

A slight blush crept up the girl's cheek, and she stuffed the useless device into her pocket defeatedly.

"So, you got a name?" Clint asked.

For a moment, the girl just sat there silently, absentmindedly biting her lip. "Anna," she finally said. "My name's Anna."

"And what was his name?"

"What?"

"The boy who gave you a hard time tonight."

She turned to him, surprised. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Well, last I check, Xavier's was an all-boys school," he nodded at her sweat shirt, which had the name of the school printed across it. "So I'm assuming that's not yours."

She looked down at her sweatshirt. "Well two for you, Sherlock," she laughed, her tone laced with bitterness.

There was a pause, and for a moment the only sounds between them were the muffled din of the city.

"His name was Grant," Anna said quietly. "We met through friends, been going out for a couple weeks. Just small stuff you know, coffee, movies..." She swallowed hard then, her voice growing thick. "Then next thing you know he's inviting me over to his apartment, says his parents are gone for the weekend, that we could hang out, watch TV..."

Clint nodded, listening intently. "He had no interest in TV, did he?"

Anna shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. "I got out of there as quick as I could, told him I never wanted to see him again. I called my dad to tell him to pick me up here, but it went straight to voicemail and my battery died. I'm not even sure if he got the message..."

Her voice broke a bit as she spoke, a few defiant tears rolling down her cheeks. She sniffed and quickly wiped them away, recomposing herself.

"Oh my god," Anna hid her face in her hands. "Why am I even telling you all of this? I don't even know you."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm actually a special agent for the government."

She stared at him skeptically. "Are you serious?"

"Completely," he nodded.

"What division?"

"Classified."

"Rank?"

"You know, I don't think they ever officially gave me one?"

"Do you even have a badge?"

Clint patted his pockets. "Afraid I left it at home," he shrugged.

"Wow, you are by far the worst special agent I have ever met," she deadpanned with a smile, resting her head against her hand.

"Met a lot of them then?" Clint asked sarcastically.

Anna shook her head and chuckled. "Nah."

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, but it was surprisingly comfortable. Clint had to admit the girl was growing on him. There was a familiar air about her that he just couldn't place.

"You know I actually thought he might be the one?" Anna said after a while. "He was cute and charming and we got along so well... And then I threw a shoe at him..."

Clint couldn't keep himself from laughing. He couldn't remember the last time he had really laughed. Was it a week ago, more? With work as serious as his, and a sense of humor about as moist as the Sahara, it wasn't something he got to do very often. He liked it. He missed it.

"Stop that," Anna scolded him, biting back a grin. "That is so not funny."

"Did you hit him?"

"Right in the face," she admitted.

He laughed again. "Wow, hell of a shot, Katniss."

She chuckled lightly. "Thanks."

"And let me tell you, kid, from what I've learned, love is never that simple. Hardly anyone ever gets it right on the first try. Hell, just look at me and my -"

He paused for a moment. What could he even call Natasha and him? Partners just seemed too political, too impersonal. They were a couple, sure, but he doubted either of them would ever refer to the other as "boyfriend" or "girlfriend" in a public setting, and he was pretty sure if he ever called them soul mates, Tasha would promptly hit him upside the head.

Occasionally, when it was just the two of them, lounging around the apartment on one of their rare days off, she'd refer to him as моя любовь, 'my love'. It was one of the few words he knew in Russian, along with 'please', 'thank you', and 'do as I say and I won't kick your ass' (He'd only had to use that one once, but it stuck with him all the same).

No, what Natasha and him had was so intimate, ran so deep, that he wasn't sure there was a word in any language that could properly describe how much they meant to one another.

"Well, it took us years to figure out what we really wanted. Don't beat yourself up after only a couple weeks."

Anna nodded and gave him a weak smile.

A car pulled up to the curb below them, causing them both to turn and look. A middle aged man with dark hair climbed out of the driver's side. "Anya?" he called, quickly walking around the car and towards them.

Anna raised her hand and waved at the man.

"Anya?" Clint asked, turning to her in confusion.

"Yeah," she said. "It's my name - well, my real name. Anna's just a nickname. It's what most of my friends call me."

Clint felt like he'd been hit by a train. The world around him seemed to go silent, and suddenly he could see everything; the steel blue eyes, the red hair. It was like looking in a mirror.

Now he realized why the girl had seemed so familiar. She was Anya, his Anya. His daughter.

And she was practically all grown up.

Clint tried not to stare at her in awe as her father (adopted father, he reasoned) approached them. Did she know she was adopted, that this man wasn't her real father? Did she even care?

She looked nothing like her adopted father. In fact, she looked so much like Tasha that Clint wanted to kick himself for not noticing it earlier. She shared the same, distinct red hair as her mother, which, now that the rain had stopped, was drying into little ringlets like Natasha's did when it was longer. Clint could see some of himself in there too. The blue eyes, the round face, that was all him. She was rather short, like Nat, but otherwise genetics seemed to have dealt her a pretty good hand.

Anya stood when her father reached them. "I got your message." His tone was concerned. "I tried to call you back but it went straight to your voicemail. Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Dad," Anya said, giving him a hug.

Over Anya's head, her father eyed Clint warily. "Who are you?" he asked, releasing Anya but keeping a protective arm around her shoulders.

Clint opened his mouth to respond, but Anya beat him to it. "He's fine, Dad, he's with the police," she lied, giving Clint a look that told him to play along. Clint tried not to let his face show his surprise. Evidently looks weren't the only thing she'd inherited from her spy parents. "He was just making sure I was safe."

"Will Brandt," Clint said, slipping into one of his aliases as he stood and shook her father's hand. "I was just passing through and noticed she seemed upset. Thought it would be a better idea to sit with her until her ride came than to leave her out here all alone."

"Thank you," her father nodded gratefully. "I would have been here sooner but the traffic..."

"The city that never sleeps," Clint nodded understandingly.

By now it had started to sprinkle again, the water droplets making light taps as they hit the pavement around them. Anya's father looked up at the sky tiredly. "Honey, we should get going, we don't want to worry your mother." Anya nodded in agreement and her father started walking them back towards their car. "Thank you again for staying with her," he said gratefully to Clint.

"No problem," he said. "I'll see ya around, kid."

Anya looked back over her shoulder and gave him a small smile.

Clint watched as they climbed into their car. Through the rain coated passenger window, he could see Anya still watching him. He gave her a small wave, which she returned as they pulled away from the curb and disappeared around the corner.

Clint tried to ignore the twinge in his heart as he pulled the hood of his jacket over his head. He'd thought he'd let Anya go fifteen years ago when he and Tash had given her up for adoption. Clearly he'd been wrong. Even now, all these years later, Anya still had as strong a grip on his heart as she had back then. But he had to let her go, he reasoned, for both their sakes. He was not her father, not really, and he couldn't keep letting himself keep getting hung up on that. She had her own life to live now, one without him or Natasha or any of the dangers she would have face if they had kept her. It was better this way. For all of them.

Head hung low, Clint head back towards the apartment, easily disappearing into the night like a shadow.


End file.
